Better
by acaelousqueadcentrum
Summary: Post 5x03. Break-up to make-up.


Holly sees the woman sitting on her porch when she pulls into the driveway. For a moment her breath hitches in concern, but then her pulse evens out as she takes in the shape of the figure there.

It's Gail.

She'd recognize her anywhere.

Holly puts her car into park and steps out into the cold night air. For a moment, she just stands there, watching Gail watch her. Her mind is a swirl of different emotions, and she isn't sure how she feels about seeing the policewoman waiting for her in the dark. Sadness at how they left things after their fight a few days ago, excitement at seeing Gail again after several an absence of several days, anger at the other woman's refusal to listen, the warmth of affection and desire and love. Each feeling runs through her, both bitter and sweet.

Holly grabs her bag and starts slowly for the front door.

Gail rises steadily to her feet, and Holly feels the burn of shame for wondering how much alcohol Gail must have had to consume to wind up here, on her porch. The blonde seems sober as a judge, and Holly's seen her drink enough during their short relationship to recognize the difference between a single shot for courage and as many shots as it takes to forget.

She must have just recently gotten off shift herself because she looks worn down, like it's been too long of a day, and her go-bag is sitting at her feet. She's dressed casually, Holly can see. She's got on her dark woolen coat, the one that goes down to her knees, and a pair of blue jeans that could have been painted on are tucked into fur-lined boots. Instead of her hood, Gail's got on the snug little grey watch cap she's taken to wearing ever since her haircut, and there's a long scarf with wide red and blue stripes on it wrapped around her neck. But her hands are shoved in her pockets, and Holly knows that while some of that is Gail on the defense, most of it is because she's forgotten her gloves again, or lost them somewhere. In the short months they'd been dating, Holly's lost count of the times Gail's left them over at her house or her own apartment, or in a car, or had to run back into the Penny to retrieve them after they'd already paid their tab and left.

_She looks cold_, Holly thinks to herself as she approaches, seeing the red of Gail's cheeks and nose, vibrant and startling against her pale porcelain skin. She wonders how long the other woman has been waiting for her. Long enough to have her shivering in the cold, certainly. Long enough that her eyes are glossy with wetness brought on by the freezing temperature.

Holly comes to a stop at the bottom of the porch steps. She wants to say something, wants to do something to cross this distance between the two of them, but she's not sure what to say, what to do. Not sure what Gail expects from her. So she stands, silent, and looks up at the woman above her.

"Hey," Gail says, breaking the silence finally. She kicks her boots at some snow before raising her eyes to meet Holly's gaze.

Holly feels herself relax slightly. She'd expected anger—hostility, even—from Gail, but instead the blonde seemed calm. Her voice was lacking a lot of the warmth that Holly had grown used to, that tone Gail seemed to reserve just for her, but it was still almost conversational. Almost friendly.

Holly takes a deep breath before responding. "Hi," she says back, her breath frosting in the cold air.

The silence builds until Gail, again, speaks.

"So," she says, "I think we need to talk, and it's freezing out here. Can we go inside?" She brings her bare hands out of her pockets and brings them up to her face, blowing on them for warmth.

"Yes, yes," Holly answers, "absolutely. I'm sorry, I just … I wasn't expecting you. You startled me."

She continues to babble as she climbs the steps and unlocks the front door, gesturing for Gail to enter.

"Did you lose your gloves again," she asks, "you must be freezing. How long were you out there waiting? Why didn't you use your key? Why didn't you call-"

A cold hand against her cheek causes the stream of words to catch in her throat, and Holly falls silent for a moment.

"Gail," she says softly, almost achingly, as she brings up her warm hands to cover Gail's on her face.

"Holly," the blonde replies, but Holly cuts her off.

"I know," the doctor says, "we need to talk, but you're freezing. You must've been out there waiting for a while. And you're not going to warm up in the hall. So let me get you something warm to put on and then something warm to drink. And then we can talk, okay?"

Gail nods and removes her hand. When she hangs up her coat on the hook in the hallway, Holly can see that she's only wearing a thin sweater underneath her woolen overcoat. She grabs Gail by the hand and takes her upstairs to the bedroom, trying not to focus on the familiar feeling of her lover's hand in her own, or the last time she dragged Gail up into her room. That night they'd been laughing, and stumbling over each other on the stairs, distracting each other with hands and lips. Tonight they're silent.

Holly finds a soft sweatshirt, a pair of fleece pajama pants, and some warm and thick socks for Gail to change into, and then leaves the room.

"I'll be downstairs in the kitchen when you're ready," she tells her.

Gail comes a few minutes later, just as the electric kettle turns off, and takes a seat at the island. Holly brings two steaming mugs of tea over and joins her.

The blonde is silent, her hands are wrapped around the warm mug as if it were a lifeline, something holding her in this place, this moment.

This time, Holly takes the leap of faith and crosses the divide between them.

"Gail, why didn't you use your key?"

Gail looks surprised. "I wasn't sure it was still mine to use," she says, "I didn't know if I still had any right to use it." She looks down at the table, at the mug in her hands, at anything that isn't the woman sitting across from her.

"Hey," Holly says, "Gail, I know I screwed up but I just—"

But Gail cuts her off before she can finish. Before she can say anything, much less the apology that's been sitting on the tip of her tongue since Gail walked out of the Penny.

"Today was a shitty day, Holly," Gail says.

Holly isn't sure where this is going, but she can hear the anger in Gail's voice, the anger and the frustration and something else. Regret, maybe. Or sadness. It flitted around the edges of Gail's words, settling into the spaces in-between. She's not sure where this is going but she knows that she needs to listen carefully, to let Gail's words wash over her and help her understand how to repair the damage they'd done to their relationship.

"It was a shitty day because Oliver and I responded to the house of a woman who had been assaulted. This poor mail-order bride from the Philippines whose husband thought that because he'd paid for her to come to the country he had the right to do whatever he wanted with her. To her. It was terrible, the things she told us about him. The people who talked her into selling herself as a bride had told her all these stories about women who found love in a new country. About how much fun they were having in their new homes with their loving husbands. And this woman, this girl, really, she had been so excited about coming to Canada, about finding new love, and instead of making her dreams come true, this guy? He absolutely destroyed her. He broke her spirit and he abused her body and she's lost faith in anything good or whole. She's twenty-two years old and she told Oliver and me that she'd rather die than go back to that house."

She pauses to take a breath, and Holly reaches a hand out to her, placing it over Gail's clenched fists.

"Gail," she says, sorrow in her voice.

"Just," Gail says, slipping her hand out from under the doctor's, "just let me say this. Let me say everything I came here to say, okay? And then you can add whatever you need to, Holly. Just please, please let me say this first."

There's a desperation in the blonde's voice, something that Holly has never heard before. She nods and takes her hand back.

Gail continues her story.

"We took the report and arrested her husband for assault, but the whole rest of the day, all I could think about was picking up the phone and talking to you. All I wanted was to be able to tell you about my shitty morning and this asshole of a man who beats and rapes his poor wife. But I couldn't, you know, because we fought and I told you I didn't want to see you."

Holly watches as Gail plays with her mug of tea, dunking the tea bag in and out of the cup. Swirling the spoon around until a wave of tea breaks over the edge and splashes onto the countertop, or her own hands. Not drinking it.

"I'm not," the officer begins again, "I'm not a very open person, Holly. I don't share things with people, I don't tell people things, I don't like it when everybody is all up in my business. When I was dating Chris I tried for as long as possible to keep people from finding out about it. I wouldn't even let Nick acknowledge that we were dating when it was just us, much less to anyone else. And things with them went bad, just like always. You know, you see?"

"I think so," Holly says patiently.

"But the other day, I was riding with Dov, and you and I were making plans on the phone. And then Dov started asking about you and me and so I told him. I told him about us. I told him that I was serious about you and that the only person who needed to know that was you. But I told him anyway. Because I was happy with you, because I was proud of you."

Holly's breath catches, and she fights the urge to touch Gail, to reach and run her fingers through the other woman's short blonde locks, gently scratch at the back of her neck. Instead she runs her fingers through her own hair, adjusts her glasses, and looks up at Gail again.

"You …" she starts and then stops, takes another breath, and asks, "what did you tell him?"

"What did I tell him, Holly? I told him that I liked you, a lot. That you were smart and sexy and that apparently that was my type. You were my type. And I told him about how sometimes I wasn't sure why we were together, because we have nothing in common, but that I liked talking with you, being with you…"

Holly can see Gail's agitation grow stronger with every word, and her own heart fracture and splinter as the blonde cuts open the wound Holly and her friends had caused, lays herself bare. It's so unlike Gail to be so free with herself. She'd admitted as much at the start of their conversation.

"Gail, honey," Holly says, but Gail shakes her head.

"You want to know the worst part," she says to the air, refusing to look at Holly. If she looked, if she let herself look, she knew there was no way she'd finish without crying. "The worst part is that I told him that it was different with you, that I was different with you. I told him I was better with you. The worst part is that I think that's true. I am better with you. And I like it, I like being better, I like that you make me want to be better."

Holly hears the pieces click and settle into place. Here was the fulcrum of their whole fight, here was the catalyst that fired and burned through them that night at the bar. Gail had taken a step forward, was taking another one right now, in fact. And her reward had been disappointment, embarrassment, confirmation that the people she loves will always let her down.

The brunette feels cold shame spread throughout her veins, starting in her fingertips and quickly moving toward her chest. She had known how careful Gail was with her heart, and even still, even knowing, she had been careless with it. She'd fumbled the precious gift Gail was just starting to entrust her with.

"And what I said, Holly," Gail continues, "that night? That wasn't me being better, it was just me being me. Because what you said, or what your friend Lisa said and you didn't, that hurt me. And I don't like feeling hurt so I get mad instead."

The blonde takes a deep breath and circles the island, coming to stand right in front of Holly.

"Old Gail would have just kept on being mad. But I don't want to be Old Gail. I want to be Better Gail, I liked being Better Gail. That's why I came tonight, because even if we're done, even if you never want to see me again after this, I still want to be the better person I am when I'm with you. So I'm sorry for what I said, for how I said it. You hurt me and I wanted to hurt you back, and so I did. But I'm trying, I'm trying to be better, Hol."

Holly takes the pale hands in her own.

"I'm sorry, Holly," Gail says again.

"No," Holly answers her, giving the other woman's hands a squeeze as she shakes her own head, "no. You don't apologize for this. I do. I apologize. It's my fault, my stupid fault. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not telling Lisa to shut up. I'm sorry I let her demean you and your job, I'm sorry I let her insult your intelligence and suggest, even for a second, that you weren't good enough for me. And I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry for not telling her how I really felt about you, Gail. I'm sorry for not telling you how much you make me feel. Because I feel so much for you. The past three months have been amazing and I've never felt for anyone what I feel for you."

She pauses for breath and pulls Gail even closer, pulling the blonde to stand between her legs, raising a hand to cup the back of Gail's head in her palm.

"And Gail," she continues, "I just want you to be happy, so Old Gail, New Gail, as long as you're happy with who you are, I'm happy for you. You are Gail Peck, a beautiful woman and awesome police officer. You are grumpy and cranky but you make me smile. You are sexy and sweet, and you snore just a little bit. You've had terrible things happen to you, and you've survived them. You're strong and you hate letting anyone see you vulnerable, but when you have nightmares you let me hold you until you can fall asleep again. And you're here now, offering an olive branch because I was too afraid that if I asked for your forgiveness, you'd turn me away."

Holly leans back on the stool, taking in everything about Gail in this moment. The way her eyes look, sparkling even in the low light of the kitchen. The rise and fall of her pulse in her throat, how her heart skips a beat when Holly lets her thumb rest on the inside of Gail's wrist. The slow, hesitant inhale and exhale of breath ghosting across her own skin.

There was nothing Holly wanted to do more in this moment than tilt her head forward and capture Gail's soft lips in a loving kiss.

"Holly, I—"

But this time Holly cuts her off.

"I want to be with you, Gail," she says, trying not to let her hope blossom, "I want to go on dates with you, and kiss you everywhere inside and out, and wake up next to you. I want to make coffee for you in the morning, and kiss you before I go off to work. And in the evening, even if we can't see each other that day or wake up in the same bed, I want to know that before you go to sleep, you're thinking of me. Just like I'm thinking of you. I am having fun, because being with you has brought so much joy into my life. And yes, other things. Fear of you being hurt on the job, wonder at how fast and hard I've fallen for you, worry, security, frustration, hope. Being with you is so many wonderful things, Gail. And I don't want to lose you."

Holly looks up to see Gail with her eyes closed tight, head tilted up toward the ceiling.

Unsure of what the other woman is feeling or thinking, Holly continues to talk, starting to ramble into the air between their bodies.

"Unless," she says to Gail, "you don't want me, unless you don't want to date me anymore. I understand, you know, if that's how you feel. I deserve it, even. Because I did something pretty shit—"

In the space of a single heartbeat, Holly finds she can't talk anymore. She's too busy responding to the desperate, heavy, sweet lips that have captured her own in a deep kiss. Gail steps even closer into the warm circle of her thighs and brings her hands up to cradle Holly's jaw. She shifts her head, taking the kiss deeper, hotter, and Holly moans in response, her hands ungracefully grasping at the bottom of Gail's sweatshirt, right above her ass, desperate to feel Gail's soft skin against her palms and the pads of her fingers.

They continue to kiss, and grab, and grope until their lungs start to burn from lack of oxygen.

Only then do they part, both breathing heavily into the quiet atmosphere of Holly's kitchen.

"Let me guess," Holly says, "I just needed to shut up?"

Gail laughs and traces a finger down the brunette's jaw, the muscles of her neck, and then back up again. "Absolutely," she says with a smile that carries on her voice, "all you have to do is sit there and look pretty."

Holly can't help herself, she laughs and pulls Gail's body tight up against her own.

"Are we okay," she asks the blonde currently wrapped up in her arms.

"I think we're on our way to okay," Gail answers back with just a hint of shyness in her voice, "but another kiss or two probably wouldn't hurt."

But Holly knows Gail. She know the difference between her hurt-teasing and her fun-teasing. And there's still a little hurt, some insecurity, coloring Gail's answers just the slightest. There's still some ground to make up, some hurts to heal and some bridges to mend.

But they're off to a good start.

"Hey," Holly says into the corner of Gail's mouth, "go on a date with me? You and I, candles and fancy food. Just the two of us? It'll be good."

"Not just good," Gail answers back with a kiss, "better."


End file.
